Identity Unknown

by Debra Webb

  Patrick put a call through on his cell to Lyons. He felt confident the detective was still in his office. Like Patrick, he wouldn’t be getting much sleep until this puzzle was solved.

  When Lyons answered on the second ring, Patrick knew he’d guessed right. The detective sounded tired and flustered, especially when he learned who was calling.

  “One question,” Patrick pressed, despite Lyons’s insistence that he had a meeting in two minutes. “Where were the other victims employed?”

  Patrick wrote down the names as Lyons reviewed the file and called off each one. The Nancy Childers and Sande Williams of Chicago were the only ones to be employed at the same firm.

  After thanking the detective Patrick tossed his cell phone aside. He studied the names of companies and firms. Nine in total. According to Lyons, three of the companies were aerospace contractors, two specialized in electronics technology, two others were pharmaceutical and medical research companies, respectively, while the final two were accounting firms, one being Peyton and Wyatt. A varied range of businesses with no ready way to connect one to the other.

  Patrick dropped his pen and exhaled a frustrated breath. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. And yet there could be a connecting thread. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.

  All he had to do was find it.

  SANDE WOKE SUDDENLY.

  Her heart raced and her skin felt damp with sweat.

  More nightmares. Struggling to calm her emotions, she reminded herself that she was safe. With O’Brien. He would protect her.

  Sitting upright, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head there. When her breathing had returned to normal she forced herself to analyze the dreams. A medical or research lab. Definitely a lab or hospital of some sort. In the dream she was a patient. She could hear voices discussing her, but she couldn’t see any faces. Her eyes had refused to open.

  Was her dream about the hospital where she’d awakened on that gurney outside the morgue? Or was this someplace else?

  She should tell O’Brien about her dream. It had to mean something, otherwise the same one wouldn’t keep haunting her. She wiggled free of the covers and went in search of her host. If he was sleeping, she would just have to nose around in the kitchen for more hot cocoa and wait him out. She doubted he’d gotten much rest last night. He was likely as exhausted as she was.

  After peeking into the other rooms along the hall, she confirmed that O’Brien had done exactly what she’d figured he would: he’d stayed up. Foolishly, it made her heart glad that someone cared enough to miss sleep on her account. But then, that was his job. He was investigating her case, protecting his client. It wasn’t as if he worried about her on a personal level.

  A pang of sadness settled deep in her chest. Maybe that was the worst part of all. Not having anyone who really cared whether she lived or died. No one should be that alone.

  She found O’Brien working on a laptop in his kitchen. The smell of coffee brewing filled the air.

  O’Brien looked up as she entered the room. He’d pulled back on the same navy slacks and pin-striped shirt he’d had on yesterday. Only the tie and jacket were missing.

  “Tea?” he offered as she neared the table where he worked. “I made coffee, but I put on the kettle as well just in case you wanted tea or cocoa.”

  She nodded. Tea would work. “I’ll get it.”

  “Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffeemaker.”

  “I had more of those weird dreams.” She poured herself a steaming mug of hot water and dunked in the teabag he’d set out for her, then added a little sugar. She joined him at the table. “Basically the same dream, just a bit more vivid.”

  He studied her a moment. “Give me the new details.”

  She sipped her tea and mentally reviewed both dreams. “I was definitely in some sort of lab or hospital. The voices had the same conversation about whether I was to be terminated or not. One distinctly male, the other female.” She shrugged. “That’s about it.”

  “I’ve found what I think may be a connection between the victims. A very loose one, mind you, but I believe it’s a link nonetheless.” He closed the laptop and refilled his mug before continuing.

  Anticipation had Sande gripping her own mug with both hands. “What kind of connection?”

  When he’d lowered his tall frame into his chair once more, he settled his full attention on her. “Each of the ten victims worked at a company where technology, research or corporate accounting was the focus. In each case, the victim had been employed there less than one year. And—” he held up a hand for emphasis “—each stolen identity used to get the position with the company was one with the necessary credentials.”

  Though she was following what he was saying, “What about the people whose identities were used.”

  “Not one had any idea her or his identity was being illegally used until after the murder.”

  “Except, if there is another Sande Williams or Nancy Childers out there, they haven’t been found yet.” The thought left Sande feeling empty and cold despite the heat from the tea. If she wasn’t Sande Williams, who was she? How long would it take to find that answer?

  “Exactly.”

  She downed a couple more gulps of tea, hoping the caffeine would make her feel human again. “So, you think these identities were stolen for a particular reason—their business credentials?”

  “Yes. Which ultimately means the stolen identities weren’t the targets, they were merely tools to reach the true targets.”

  “The companies?” The whole idea was starting to feel surreal. Why would anyone steal someone else’s identify to get a job?

  “Information,” O’Brien explained. “Maybe technology or research data. But definitely information. The people utilizing these stolen identities could have been spies or moles, placed in certain key positions to gather the information needed.” He flared his hands. “Or to contaminate that information if hired by a competing company or firm.”

  The mug suddenly felt too heavy to hold. Sande placed it on the table in front of her, her mind churning with the ugliness of what or who she might turn out to be. “That would make me a thief.” She moistened her lips. “A bad person.” A knot formed in her stomach.

  “Don’t go there.” O’Brien reached across the table and placed a hand on her arm. She wanted to draw away, but there was such warmth in his touch, such strength, she couldn’t bear to do so. “It’s very possible that considering the circumstances, your amnesia and the fact that you’re clearly on the run, you were an unwilling participant.”

  Relief trickled through her. “That makes me feel a little better.” She did not want to be a criminal. It would really suck to regain her memory and realize she was a thief, or worse.

  A killer.

  She shuddered.

  But that was a real possibility. The truth was she had no idea who she was or what she had done in her life.

  Anything was possible.

  The cell phone lying on the table vibrated. Sande jumped. She stared at the phone, somewhere in the back of her mind realizing it was past 9:00 a.m. The call could be about the test results.

  Or news about who she really was.

  “O’Brien.”

  Her body trembled in spite of her determination to be strong. Whatever she had done, whoever she was, she would simply have to face the consequences.

  O’Brien’s responses were limited to “okay” and “I understand.” Sande found herself holding her breath when he disconnected.

  “The test results are in.”

  His tone sent the last of the warmth draining right out of her. “And?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Somehow she had hoped the answer would be that simple—that she’d been drugged. When the effects wore off completely she would remember everything and all would be right in her world once more. That would somehow prove she was a victim, not a criminal.

  “Oh.” Defeat sucked at
her resolve.

  “There were some inconsistencies the lab couldn’t explain…” He hesitated. “But that doesn’t mean anything significant. It just means there may have been something there that is no longer detectable…at least without us knowing to look specifically for whatever it was.”

  Hope welled once more. “So I could have been drugged or something?”

  “There’s still that possibility.”

  He didn’t sound very convinced, but at this point she would take whatever hope he offered, however vague or remote.

  “What do we do now?”

  Sitting here waiting for the other shoe to drop was not exactly what she hoped he had on the agenda for today. She needed to do something besides wait for the bad guys to figure out where she was.

  Bad guys. Were the men who’d chased her at the hospital and then again on the street her former associates? Was she one of them? God, she hoped that wasn’t the case.

  O’Brien stood. “We’re going to see Detective Lyons. I want to run my theories by him.” He pushed in his chair. “In person.”

  Sande experienced another of those chills as she attempted to read between the lines of what he’d just said. “Are you concerned that someone might be listening in on your telephone conversations?” Could the bad guys have already figured out where she was? Were they watching right now?

  “No.” He put his coffee mug in the sink. “I want to see the detective’s face when I ask him why he hasn’t already considered this scenario. Or if he has, why he didn’t share that theory with me.”

  “You think Lyons might be involved with them?”

  O’Brien took the mug from her hand and placed it in the sink. “I’m exploring all possibilities.”

  She caught herself chewing on her lip, and stopped. No need to let him see just how worried she was. “Good idea.”

  “First,” he qualified, “I need a shower.”

  She could use one, as well. “Another good idea.”

  O’Brien showed her to the guest bathroom and rounded up the bag Windy had given her. There were toiletries and more clothes inside.

  “I’ll be right down the hall.” He paused. “I’ll leave the door open. Yell if you need me.”

  For a split second before he turned away their gazes met, and Sande felt a distinctly sexual intensity. Only when he walked away was she able to breathe again.

  The heat that had filled her body in that brief moment made her feel more alive…more real.

  How long had it been since anyone had looked at her that way? Since she’d felt any sort of connection to another human?

  Was there someone out there with whom she’d been involved? Someone who loved her?

  No. Probably not.

  Anyone who loved her would be looking for her. Wouldn’t they?

  So far the only people searching for her seemed to be ones who wanted to hurt her. Or take her back to that gurney and stick another tag on her toe.

  She turned on the water in the shower and slowly stripped off her clothes. If a person was supposed to die, what happened if he or she somehow avoided that fate? Would destiny catch up and ensure that course played out in the end?

  Could a person really cheat fate?

  Sande had no idea if she was a spiritual person or not, but just then praying felt like the right thing to do. She stepped beneath the spray of hot water and she prayed. Prayed for God to help her find the truth and for him to forgive her for whatever wrong things she might have done in the past.

  Bracing against the cool tile wall, she let the emotions spill from her. Better now than later, when O’Brien would see. She wanted him to believe she was brave and strong. When, in truth, she was neither. She was terrified.

  Scolding herself, she forced the fears back down to a more tolerable level. The only thing stopping her from being brave and strong was her own self-doubt.

  No matter who she had been or what she had done in the past, God evidently had plans for her. Otherwise he would never have sent her to the Colby Agency and her own personal guardian angel.

  Sande thought of Madge, the homeless lady who lived in a cardboard condo, but had taken her in, put clothes on her naked body and taken her to find help.

  The Colby Agency.

  Chapter Nine

  Patrick stood at the precinct’s duty desk and waited patiently. It was 8:00 a.m. and Detective Lyons couldn’t be found. He’d left for a meeting and hadn’t returned or called in.

  The duty officer hung up the phone and shook her head. “He’s still not answering his cell.”

  “And you have no idea where this meeting was or who he planned to meet?”

  The young sergeant shook her head again. “Sorry. No. He didn’t say.” She shrugged. “But that’s not unusual. Lyons does things his way. He could be gone for hours.” She surveyed her desk once more, then met Patrick’s eyes. “Half the time his partner doesn’t even know his schedule.”

  Lyons hadn’t mentioned working with anyone on this case, but it made sense that his partner would be up to speed to some extent. “Is his partner in?”

  “I’ll check.” The sergeant picked up the phone once more.

  Patrick turned to Sande who hovered close behind him. He doubted she’d gotten any more sleep than he had. She hadn’t said much since they’d left his place. He hoped her silence was related to the case and not to his temporary lapse in sanity.

  He’d felt it. No doubt she’d seen it. Need. Pure. Primal. Right there at the bathroom door. The idea of her taking off her clothes and stepping into the shower had abruptly consumed him. The desire to climb into that shower with her had been fierce.

  Not once in three years had he felt the compulsion for sex. Nor had he been attracted to any woman with whom he’d worked, or encountered outside work. He’d assumed that component of his life was over, beyond the occasional date. The part of his brain that reasoned, using his formal training, understood that it would take time for him to get over the loss of his wife, physically and emotionally. His wife, the woman he’d loved and the woman he’d come to hate after learning of her deceit.

  But his less rational side had opted not to allow that kind of pain again. The only way to avoid it was to minimize contact with another human on that level.

  He’d been successful until now.

  That the human he’d allowed to get under his skin was one whose past was missing in action was, he well knew, his mind’s twisted way of reenacting his own past. If he could save Sande Williams, turn her life around, make things right for her, then he would have accomplished what he’d failed with his wife.

  All the education, experience and wisdom in the world wouldn’t prevent his psyche from attempting to heal itself with a similar deed executed without failure.

  Too bad it was the one sure way to take him right back down the most agonizing path of his life.

  “You hanging in there?” Dumb question, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

  She hugged her arms around her middle and managed a vague nod. “Sure.”

  He was thankful she didn’t ask about the missing detective. Patrick’s instincts were humming with the suspicion that Lyons was not simply away at a meeting. Something was wrong.

  “Detective Cates’ll be right out,” the sergeant announced, dragging Patrick’s attention back to her.

  “Thank you.”

  Patrick ushered Sande to the short row of seats against the wall on the other side of the precinct’s small lobby. “As soon as we talk to Lyons we’ll drop by my office and have research start working on a couple of theories I’ve put together.” He’d dealt with the Colby Agency’s research department for two years. The people there knew how to dissect a theory and follow through on the smallest element. He could definitely use their help on this one.

  Windy was following up on Alma Spears. Any next of kin. Former work associates. Anything that might lead them to someone the woman associated with. Patrick had gotten the impression the lady liked to talk.
He seriously doubted her ability to keep secrets. She would have shared whatever was going on in her life. The only question was with whom.

  “Mr. O’Brien?”

  Patrick faced the man approaching. “Detective Cates?”

  “That’s right.” Cates extended his arm. “I’m Carl Lyons’s partner.”

  Patrick shook hands, then gestured to Sande. “This is Ms. Williams. Can we talk in your office?” Though the lobby was empty at the moment except for the sergeant at the duty desk, officers and detectives walked in and out regularly.

  “Sure.” Cates gestured to the corridor on the left. “This way.”

  Once in the cramped office Cates shared with Lyons, Patrick waited for Sande to take a seat before settling into one of his own. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Are you working with Detective Lyons on the case involving Ms. Williams?”

  Cates shook his head. “Nope. Carl’s working on that one with some Bureau hotshot.”

  The FBI? “He didn’t mention that,” Patrick stated, making no attempt to conceal his surprise.

  The detective spread his arms magnanimously. “He’s keeping a tight lid on this one. Supposed to be some big-deal secret.” Cates cocked his head and stared directly at Patrick with something that looked far too much like accusation. “But it appears he shared information with you.”

  Patrick recognized the man’s hackles were up on the issue. “Not really. What little he shared had more to do with determining the background of my client than anything else.”

  Cates glanced at Sande. “What is your client’s background?”

  Now the detective was fishing. “That’s what we’re attempting to discover.”

  “All I can tell you,” Cates said as he leaned forward and shuffled through the messages on his desk, “is that I’m out of the loop on this one. Lyons is working with the Bureau and that’s that.”

  No point wasting time if the detective didn’t have anything. Patrick rose from his chair, as did Sande. “I appreciate your help, Detective Cates.”

  “I’ll let Carl know you stopped by,” he said without looking up.